


Masks

by lategoodbye



Series: Oh, rage is desire. [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Hux-centric, Love/Hate, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lategoodbye/pseuds/lategoodbye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a weakness, he tells himself. It can't be love, of that he is sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks

He doesn't remember how it started. The distinction between thinly-veiled threats and whatever this is isn't immediately clear to him, and maybe that's beside the point. Their minds vie for dominance even as they embrace. The lingering bruises on their skin are an extension of the strangest of rivalries, one that seeks to fulfil itself in needle-sharp retorts and scornful glances, yes, but also one that leads to the rustle of heavy fabrics in the dark, to skin on skin and trailing fingertips and, finally, to release. Hating someone so completely, it's exhausting and messy. There is that moment, Hux knows, in which he can look at Ren without jealousy and contempt clouding his judgement. 

It's not a weakness, he tells himself. It can't be love, of that he is sure. 

Because Hux might be a callous man, a dutiful and ruthless man, but even he knows love and this isn't it. He wouldn't want it to be. He doesn't need a distraction. He needs focus and determination. He needs the intensity in Ren's eyes, his probing fingers, the forceful kisses trailing down his flushed skin until even the last remnant of pretence is gone.

Neither of them care, and there's an honesty in that that leaves Hux intoxicated and wide open.

Vulnerable and easy to manipulate Ren would probably call it, and the very thought infuriates Hux. The man knows nothing of discipline. He gives himself over completely, takes without mercy, he never holds back. He's the chaos to Hux's order, but in this they find common ground.

Maybe it's nothing more than an act of helplessness, a misguided attempt at making this work – ambition gone wrong. But Hux is certain that Ren isn't one to dwell on things so he does him the same courtesy. 

After all, this isn't a budding relationship. This is an arrangement between the most wilful of minds, a transaction of sorts, sealed with eager mouths and careless hearts.

“Don't you dare!”

And now Ren has him shoved against a wall. His hood drawn up, his muscular frame emphasised by his heavy coat, he towers over him. His mask is inches away from his face, his gloved hands dig into his hips before they dip lower, beneath the charcoal fabric of his trousers. When they grip his erection it's too cold, the friction too much for him to bear but there's nowhere for Hux to retreat to so he wills his heart to stop beating quite so frantically and buries his fists in the coarse wool of Ren's overcoat. 

“This is a new low, even for you,” he hisses, and when again Ren remains silent Hux has the most startling of thoughts: that it's not him at all behind the mask, that there's nothing but chaos and rage – a dark Lord, red saber ignited, burning away the very fabric of existence. 

“Take it off!” Hux demands.

And, at first, Ren's sudden eagerness to follow orders pleases him. He watches as he peels off his gloves. He lets Ren's pale hands frame his face. Scarred knuckles brush his jaw, then his throat. Hux can feel fingertips ghosting over his dry lips. They settle there and Hux's impassive gaze grows restless. His eyes go wide, not with surprise but with indignation, as Ren pushes them past his lips, his teeth. They're soft and they're cold as they rest on his tongue, and when Ren withdraws they glisten wetly, for a moment, before they vanish out of sight. A button comes loose as Ren pulls down his trousers but the time for insults has long passed.

Instead, Hux moans. He lets his eyes drift close as he offers himself up, as he tears at Ren's coat, as his hips echo the erratic rhythm of Ren's hand. 

When he comes it's silently, over far too soon. He lets his body spell out the unbearable ecstasy of his release, and even though he prefers the wall behind him for support he knows Ren must feel them too: the shivers that lick at his body like electricity.

It is then that Ren finally removes his helmet. The sound it makes as it drops to the floor is that of an unimaginable burden. Hux pays it no attention. It's not his responsibility to bear, neither is the man who now regards him with such raw emotion that for a moment Hux is taken aback. He's good at reading people, he knows, but the curve of Ren's lips alone is a contradiction of a myriad of thoughts. 

“Do you hate me?” he asks, and his voice – his real voice – is soft but not weak. Never weak.

Hux can't think of anything to reply, and so he turns away, his own face a mask of calculated resolve.


End file.
